


Blood Moon

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: Witcher Fanfics [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Human/Monster Romance, Large Cock, Licking, M/M, Monster sex, Rimming, Size Difference, Stomach Bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-15 20:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: The bat closed the space between them in a leap and pinned Geralt to the forest floor with its weight. Trepidation crawled up Geralt’s spine. He twitched his arms beneath its mass and shoved his heels into the dirt, trying desperately and ineffectively to wiggle free. When it bent over him, its mouth inches from his neck, he braced himself for a bite, for death – only to jump in surprise as the cool snout of the bat nosed against his clavicle.Regis turns into a giant bat, which leads to a surprisingly enjoyable night in the woods.





	Blood Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it about time I wrote a 'Geralt fucks a monster' fic, so here it is: Geralt having sex with giant bat Regis. Make sure you read those warnings, because this fic gets filthy.

When Regis awoke, it was more like surfacing from a drunken stupor than waking from slumber. His head swam as he peeled open his eyes and a strange somnolence clung to his rotaries, rendering his movements slow and gummy. As he lay there struggling for consciousness, he became aware of many things all at once: the fine grey fur stretched over every inch of his skin, the jagged teeth in his maw, the leathery wings extending from his shoulders, and the heat racing through his abdomen. His breaths came out hard and fast and he wiped the slippery surface of his wing across his forehead, finding sweat clinging to the fur there.

It had been a long time since he had awoken in bat form. He was typically able to control the transformation, to resist it. He had known there would be a full moon tonight, but during past full moons, he had been able to sleep through the night as though it were one like any other. He'd had no reason to worry.

He tried to recall when last he had transformed against his volition, but his thoughts were slow and indistinct and slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. He couldn’t focus long enough to have a full, comprehensive thought. Control was slipping away from him terrifyingly fast.

 _There has to be something_ , he thought dizzily. _Something strong… dalvinite and silver…_

He rolled out of bed and groped along the floor of his crypt for something, anything he could use to restrain himself. He was terribly afraid of what he would do if his self-control abandoned him completely. A dreadful hunger had risen in him. Not just for blood, which was alarming all on its own, but for a mate, too, and he could only imagine how he could go about trying to ensnare one in his bestial form.

But he was getting nowhere, groping along the ground, and the thought – _Tesham Mutna_ – came too him too late. His years of self-discipline and abstention slipped away. 

Regis heaved himself up off the ground and lumbered slowly out the door, gazing up at the sky with beady red eyes that gleamed under the meagre light of the moon. The night was even darker than usual, the black suffused with dull shades of red. The red was an almost palpable thing for Regis; he could feel it crawling through his fur, breaching his skin, racing down his bones and settling in the pit of his empty belly.

He needed to be full. Not with blood, though he did thirst something terrible; he first wanted other, baser things.

And Regis knew exactly where to go to indulge himself.

* * *

The residents of Corvo Bianco had come running to him shortly after he had gone to bed. Geralt hadn’t been happy to be roused from his slumber, having become used to sleeping regular hours, and initially tried to brush them off and go back to sleep. But they had persisted; ‘the moon is red’, they’d called, and Geralt had tried to explain to them that this phenomenon was entirely harmless and would be gone come morning, but apparently the black moon wasn’t the only lunar event that was regarded as a portent.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a loose outfit, then stepped outside to reassure his employees that there was no need for panic. He arrived at the servant’s quarters to find everyone huddled behind doors which had been liberally shielded with salt, garlic, holy water, a variety of different herbs, and religious memorabilia. They were certainly thorough.

“Please tell me that’s all they did,” he said, turning to Barnabas-Basil, who was still in his pyjamas and looked just as unhappy about being awoken in the middle of the night as he did. At least one of his employees didn’t subscribe to ridiculous superstition.

“There has also been an incident with the well, but I will deal with that come morning,” said Barnabas-Basil.

Geralt decided he wouldn’t ask. He was exasperated enough as it was. “What is it they want me to do? I can’t make the moon go away.”

“Just perform one of your witcher rituals,” said Barnabas-Basil, spreading his hands. “They wish you to ‘cleanse’ the area.”

“There is no witcher ritual for _this_.”

“It doesn’t have to be real, sir. A few gestures and a sprinkling of salt and I’m sure they’ll settle down.”

Geralt glanced up at the windows, where dozens of anxious eyes peered down at him expectantly. If he wanted to get some sleep, and _them_ to get some sleep, he would have to do what Barnabas-Basil suggested. It won't take long, he told himself. Just scatter some salt and garlic cloves, do a little dance, then return to bed and hope being asked to perform rituals wouldn’t become a regular occurrence.  

“Alright.” He extended a hand to Barnabas-Basil. “Give me some salt and garlic cloves.”

Barnabas-Basil retrieved a pouch of salt from beside a door and removed a necklace of garlic from around one of the handles, placing them in Geralt’s hand. Geralt nodded his thanks and threw the garlic around his neck. His employees watched in rapt attention as he emptied the pouch of salt onto the ground in a circle, making it as neat as he could manage in the dark. It would do shit all to ward off anything except perhaps snails, but he wanted people to buy that he was doing something other than wasting condiments.

The garlic stunk to high heaven as he broke it into modules; he was going to need to give his hands a thorough wash when he was finished. He threw the cloves about haphazardly and made a few vaguely religious gestures with his hands, then gave a ceremonial bow toward each door and glanced to the windows again to gauge how convincing his act had been. Strangely, the residents looked even more terrified than before, their jaws slack and faces pale. He turned to Barnabas-Basil to ask what he’d done wrong, only to find him just as pale and skittering backwards.

It was then that he heard it – panting. Low and guttural panting. Not human.

He hadn’t brought his swords out with him.

He turned fast, reaching for a nearby broom; a useless offensive weapon, but it would stop one blow from most beasts, at the very least.

A giant, hairy, winged figure stood at the entrance to the servants quarters and stared at him with beady red eyes. It took Geralt a long moment to register that he was not looking at a lower vampire; in fact, he _knew_ this vampire. He'd seen it before. The stubbly grey hair and red eyes were recognisable as belonging to Regis, even hidden among shadows and fur as they were. He did not, however, relinquish the broom (which would be utterly useless against the claws of a higher vampire, but he found it a source of comfort while being stared down by a giant bat).

It advanced. Barnabas-Basil started running and Geralt followed suit, hurtling for the house in the hope that he would be able to reach a sword before the bat-Regis caught up to him. 

He didn’t reach the house. He didn’t get more than a couple of steps before taloned feet were coiling around his biceps and dragging him up into the air. He tried and failed to strike Regis with the broom and ended up dropping it during the initial, turbulent ascent, and he stopped fighting entirely once they had flown above Corvo Bianco. A fall from this height would kill him.

For the duration of the flight, Geralt wasn't able to do a damned thing. Regis maintained a height that was just enough to prevent any kind of struggling, least Geralt fall and send his femurs smashing up into his rib cage. They travelled over vineyards and stretches of grass and grazed the towering trees of a forest, and only when the forest started to show patches of clear land did their descent start. All Geralt managed were a couple of feeble flails before he was dropped unceremoniously into a forest clearing, landing upon soft, springy grass and detritus. Rolling onto his back, he watched Regis land at the edge of the clearing and stalk toward him, his massive talons kicking up dirt with each step. His jagged teeth dripped with messy strings of saliva and Geralt's stomach turned over at the sight of them.

“Regis,” he said, though he knew it was pointless to try to talk to the beast. If Regis was so far gone that he would drag Geralt half-way across Toussaint, yelling his name a few times probably wasn’t going to do anything to dissuade him from tearing into Geralt.

The bat closed the space between them in a leap and pinned Geralt to the forest floor with its weight. Trepidation crawled up Geralt’s spine. He twitched his arms beneath its mass and shoved his heels into the dirt, trying desperately and ineffectively to wiggle free. When it bent over him, its mouth inches from his neck, he braced himself for a bite, for death – only to jump in surprise as the cool snout of the bat nosed against his clavicle.

“Not gonna hurt me?” he asked, and the bat responded by giving his lips a big, wet lick. He spluttered and wiped his mouth dry on a shoulder. Regis was still in there, clearly, if inhibited by his theriomorphic side.

The bat gave him another, sloppy kiss and drew him closer with its wings, wrapping the cool, leathery skin around his torso. Its frail-looking wings were deceptively strong.

“Can you still understand me?” he asked, using the change in position to free his arms and trying to make himself comfortable in the bats grasp, which wasn’t easy. Its stiff fur made his skin itch and its weight was cutting of circulation to his legs. “Grunt if you hear me.”

A grunt. Hard to tell if it was coincidental or intentional, though. Geralt reached up and very tentatively scratched behind one of Regis’ giant, triangular ears, to which it twittered and leaned down, butting its head against Geralt’s chest and licking at the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t quite understand what it was trying to do until it managed to lift the fabric and lap at his stomach instead. Its tongue was thin, slick and cool, leaving thick trails of moisture wherever it went.

“Stop that.” Geralt tried to ease Regis away from his stomach, but Regis was having none of it; it wiggled itself beneath his shirt and licked aggressively at the hollows of his rib cage. Geralt had to close his teeth around a series of shrill cries. The sensation wasn’t unlike being _tickled_. He couldn’t help but squirm.

When it licked a nipple, he jerked so hard that Regis squawked in surprise and withdrew to peer curiously at him. Geralt took a deep breath, said, “I’m alright,” and smoothed his shirt back down before Regis could slither under there again. Undeterred, it sunk its teeth into his trousers (his _expensive_ trousers) and tore through them with ease, then did the same to his underwear, much to his chagrin. Should he manage to escape at some point, he would now have to walk home in the nude. He could only hope he escaped before dawn so he could return home under the cover of darkness.

Its jagged teeth grazed Geralt’s hip as it explored this new expanse of skin and Geralt shuddered. To have teeth so close to him, in this context, was oddly arousing. But he couldn’t let this progress any further. He didn’t want Regis to do something he wouldn’t have done while in control of his faculties.

He extracted Regis’ mouth with some difficulty and brought his knees up, trying to push Regis off. The bat was too heavy and too strong to be dislodged, but he tried regardless, pushing and squirming within its wings. He thought about tearing into the fine patagium encasing him; with a little bit of effort, he could inflict some serious damage, but he didn’t particularly want to cause Regis any pain. 

Regis dropped him after a particularly fervent struggle and Geralt tried to rise to his feet, to start running again. He was hindered by Regis flipping him onto his stomach with a wing and sitting upon his ankles, effectively immobilising him. He tried to twist around to see what the hell was going on behind him and was startled into dropping back to the forest floor when Regis’ tongue returned, this time licking along the inside of his thighs and drawing closer and closer to his intimates.

Geralt swallowed. God, he was turned on, and his arousal was making it hard to focus on doing the right thing.

“Regis, c’mon,” he breathed, pressing his warming face into his forearms as the tongue found his ball sack. “ _Fuck_.” His cock was hard within seconds and jutting against the grass. He tried not to groan as the tongue slid up between his ass. “Regis, c’mon… you can’t….” With each lick, his resolve was melting away.

“Shh,” growled Regis, and he thought perhaps he’d imagined it, until it was followed by a much softer, “Shhhh, Geralt.”

Perhaps Regis was more present than he’d thought, if not thinking clearly.

He gave one last, token attempt to throw Regis off, which failed, naturally, then sunk bonelessly into the grass and tried not to think too hard about the fact his best friend, who was a giant bat, appeared to want to fuck him and probably _would_ before the night was through. And that he was not at all opposed to that. He always had had a thing for dangerous sapient beings, just as much as he had a thing for sorceresses.

Regis momentarily deviated from his task of licking every inch of skin to close his teeth over the rise of Geralt’s ass, gentle enough to leave the skin unmarred. It was a teasing gesture, playful, and betrayed the sapient being within its hulking, bestial body. Geralt'a cock twitched and he buried his face further in his arms, red right up to the tips of his ears. When it pulled insistently at his hips, he obliged and raised his ass into the air – he must have looked _obscene_.

He found himself clawing at the forest floor as it licked at him, _into_ him, with a strange expertise. No one had ever done that to him and he’d certainly never _imagined_ having it done to him. Maybe he should have, because his skin was lighting up and his head was swimming and when it sucked at that sensitive bundle of nerves, he let out a sound dangerously close to a sob.

He had just enough presence of mind to start stroking himself and it wasn’t long – perhaps a few minutes – before his hand and stomach were slick with ejaculation. He collapsed upon the grass and detritus, held up only by the wings encircling his body. He didn’t get long to rest, however, as a heavy weight settled between his ass cheeks. He glanced back as best he could and had more than a few reservations about trying to fit a cock of that size into him, though he doubted Regis was in any state of mind to consider that trying to shove something that looked roughly the size of a forearm into a human being would be something of a feat.

It ground against him and Geralt pressed his thighs together, preventing it from getting too far with its efforts. If he was going to take a cock that size, he needed to do it at his own pace. So, with considerable effort, he struggled his way onto his back and twisted his hands into the fur on Regis’ heaving chest, drawing him close. He had no delusions about being able to control the pace entirely, but he could at least get a gentler start than Regis probably had in mind.

With a hand still shaking from the intensity of his climax, he reached between the beasts legs and grasped the massive appendage, positioning it. When he slid onto it, it was a slow, halting process that involved a lot of stifled whimpers and curling toes. He took ample time to let himself adjust to the significant girth of the beast. Regis growled and minutely jerked its hips, but it seemed to understand why Geralt was doing what he was doing, so it didn’t try to hinder Geralt beyond that.

Halfway down, he buried his face in Regis’ chest and focused on relaxing his muscles. The bat nudged the top of his head with its snout and wrapped its wings tighter around him, drawing their bodies together. It helped.

It seemed impossible that he should be able to sheath himself on Regis’ cock entirely, but he did, eventually. It was large enough to make his abdomen bulge, and when he dropped a hand to his stomach, feeling tentatively, he was made hard all over again by the realisation he could _feel_ it against his palm. The bat twitched inside him and made soft, impatient sounds.

"Alright," he said in a tremoring voice. "Go on." 

Instead of thrusting into him with reckless abandon, as he had expected, it rocked gently into him and watched his face for signs of pain. His face was taut with effort, but the pleasure was there, too. With how large he was, Regis inevitably stimulated his prostate with each movement. 

Once he was comfortable enough, Geralt shifted so his legs were wrapped around Regis’ waist and encouraged it to drive in deep, giving a small, broken cry each time Regis hit his sweet spot. It seemed to know where that place was and made a concentrated effort to thrust toward it and draw out as many bellowing cries as it possibly could. Within minutes he was trembling against Regis, overwhelmed and overwrought, his skin slick with sweat and pink in areas he’d assumed couldn’t even _be_ flushed after his mutations. His thighs quivered with each time Regis' pelvis met his ass and his cock swelled painfully, wet with pre-cum and his earlier ejaculation. When Regis snarled in his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe, threatening a bite, his vision disappeared in the blinding white of completion.

He couldn't see nor hear himself do it, but he came shuddering and rolling his hips, his head falling back as the loudest cry yet ripped out of his throat. His involuntary clenching was enough to send Regis over the edge with him and he was filled with a sticky, slippery warmth that slid down his legs in thick ropes and coated the insides of his thighs. It took a few minutes for awareness to return to Geralt.

Generally, sex with sapient monsters did not stop after two orgasms for Geralt; they had enough stamina to go on for hours, and so did he. But fucking a giant bat had deprived him of famed witcher strength. He was as weak and pliant as a doll in Regis' grasp and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. Fortunately, Regis seemed to cognize what he wanted and gingerly lowered him to the grass, coiling its wings around him in a protective manner. The leathery quality of them cooled Geralt’s feverishly hot skin. It did not pull out of Geralt, but Geralt didn't mind that in the slightest. 

Too exhausted to remain awake, Geralt closed his eyes. When exactly he fell into slumber, he didn’t know, but he did so comfortably and contentedly.

* * *

When he peeled open his eyes the following morning, he did so reluctantly, pulled out of a deep rejuvenating sleep by the call of his name. He found himself looking up at a concerned Regis, whose brow was so deeply knitted he had probably created six new wrinkles through that expression alone. He was also, Geralt realised a moment later, stark naked. _Both_ of them were stark naked, and absolutely _filthy_ too, covered in the dregs of last night’s romp.

“Geralt,” said Regis, his voice wavering; he’d never heard it do that before. “I’m sorry. I know that will not suffice, given what happened, but I am truly, deeply sorry for the events of last night and-“

“Why’re you apologizing?” asked Geralt, rising onto his elbows and reaching between his legs to brush away the dried ejaculation there. He was going to need a very long, hot bath when they got back to Corvo Bianco. “You weren’t in possession of your faculties,” he added. “I was.”

“That doesn’t matter. What I did to you-“

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want.”

Regis swallowed. “You do not understand, Geralt.”

“What’s there to understand?” Though he wanted to, he didn’t draw Regis close for fear of further upsetting him. He lay a hand upon Regis’ naked knee instead and hoped that would suffice as comfort. “You didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, in fact. You’ve no reason to be guilty, Regis.”

“But what happened,” began Regis. He ran his fingers over Geralt’s. “It was not at random. For a long time I have harboured such… thoughts and feelings about you, and the blood moon lowered my inhibitions enough to act on them." He swallowed. "Generally this would not be an issue, as my kind travels in packs and other vampires have sufficed as mates in the past, but as far as my bestial form was concerned, my feelings for you meant  _you_ were my pack."

“Your point?”

“It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have put you in a situation where you hadn’t any choice but to satiate me-!”

Geralt gently placed a hand over Regis’ mouth, silencing him. He regarded Geralt with confusion and a touch of indignation.

“Right, sure. It would have been great had I’d known you were interested before that so I’d have had a little forewarning before being fucked by a giant bat, but the fact I was fine with being fucked by a giant bat should clue you into the fact the feeling is mutual.” Slowly, while keeping an eye on Regis’ expression, he retracted his hand. “Stop guilting yourself.”

Regis took a deep breath; whatever racing thoughts he’d had seemed to finally be calming down. “You are not upset or hurt? Not at all?”

“No. I'm a little surprised too, considering what you put inside me, but no. I'm fine.” Geralt leaned closer, and when Regis made no attempt to pull away, he pressed their mouths chastely together. “Feel like I gained something, in fact.”

“Oh,” said Regis, his voice very quiet. “I now feel even more foolish for not mentioning it earlier.”

Geralt rose onto his knees, albeit with some effort. The small of his spine throbbed madly. He felt rather like he’d been torn in two, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. “Why didn’t you?” he asked, curious.

Regis took hold of his shoulder to steady him. “I had assumed you and Yennefer would reunite and give a relationship another go, as you are wont to do. I should have, regardless, but I was cowardly, I will admit.” He pursed his lips. “I did not want to face the possibility of rejection, and nor did I want to endanger our friendship with feelings that I thought would never be requited.”

Geralt shrugged. “Well, now you don’t have to stress about it.”

“Thank you, Geralt,” said Regis with a smile.

“There is one thing you _do_ have to worry about, though.”

A touch of anxiety slipped into Regis’ expression. “Yes?”

“Getting me something to wear,” said Geralt, gesturing to the tattered remains of his clothes. He could have probably tied a few of them together to create makeshift underwear, if he really wanted to, but he really did _not_ want to.

“Ah, yes…” The smile returned to Regis’ face, now sheepish. “Need I grab anything else while I’m there?”

“Just tell Basil to get a hot bath ready and have him throw some soap in.”

“Are you sure about the soap? I think you smell rather delectable like this.”

“I’m not going around smelling like sex just because you like it.” Geralt fluttered his hands. “Go.”

“Very well,” said Regis, rising to his feet. “But I fully intend to have you smelling like _mine_ again later.”

“I look forward to it,” said Geralt, already envisioning the various pleasurable way Regis could claim him again.


End file.
